The Year I Ruined Easter

An Excerpt From a Longer Story About “The Big Three” *

Note: this story includes content (and questionable language) not intended for innocent children. Please don't make me responsible for ruining even more Easters.

In late 2019, Charley had come home from school with reports that certain kids in his class didn’t believe in Santa.

I reasoned with him, “Those kids are usually the ones who don’t believe in Santa because they are naughty, and Santa stopped bringing them presents.”

It was a win-win. He got to keep the spirit alive, and I got to leverage good behavior.

But, in the back of my mind, I still figured he was just playing a part to reap the benefits. 

Spoiler alert: I was wrong. 

The longer version of this story involves my son asking for a Bearded Dragon for Christmas, but getting a bike instead. In fact, both kids got bikes that year that they didn’t ask for. 

Let’s jump ahead to February 2020. 

Charley had managed to turn a wild lizard into a beloved pet named Hover, and, against all odds, I was buying crickets on a weekly basis from the local pet store.

One afternoon, I was alone in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Elle rushed in and gave me a huge hug. “Thanks for the bike, Mom!”

My heart rushed with pride, “You’re welcome, Honey,” I said with a squeeze.

“Ha!” she blurted with her pointer finger hovering dangerously close to my retina. “I knew it! You ARE Santa!”

Son-of-uh! I just got busted by a nine-year-old. Think fast. “Yay! This is a huge day for you!

Now that you know the truth about Santa, you are officially a carrier of the spirit of Santa Claus!" I could feel sweat forming at the base of my neck. "From this moment on, you are responsible for keeping the Christmas spirit alive.”

She gave me a big hug and asked, “Can I tell Charley?”

“No!”

Her excitement waned.

“It’s important for each and every child to earn their Santa spirit when the time is right. You wouldn’t want to ruin that for anyone. Especially Charley. You are Santa now. Remember?”

“Ok,” she said with a fair mix of pride and disappointment.

The rest of February 2020 went on as planned and ended with our annual family trip to Hawaii.

The only difference we noticed during that particular trip was a growing rumor that a global pandemic was headed our way. There were even a few tourists wearing masks on the beach. 

Man. People overreact to everything. Masks? Really? Play it cool, Sir. You are on a beach in paradise. What’s the worst that could happen?

We returned to Florida in early March 2020, just as the world began shutting down. The kids’ school closed, we stocked up on groceries and feared running out of toilet paper, we learned to leverage video conferencing to keep our business moving forward and remain connected with friends and family, and delivery services kept our household running smoothly. 

There was only one problem: I couldn’t get crickets delivered (unless I wanted to buy enough for a reptile farm). I prepared Charley for the difficult decision he would have to make if we couldn’t properly feed his reptilian bestie.

And then April 2020 showed up with yet another new challenge: Easter. 

As soon as the first mention of Easter blessed their little ears, my children started voicing their hopes for what the Floppy Fatso would deliver.

All requests fell on deaf ears. As far as I was concerned, we were experiencing an equal opportunity quarantine.

“Sorry guys, I just don’t think it’s going to be safe for the Easter Bunny to be traveling from home to home this year. We can’t even go to church in person to celebrate our risen Lord and Savior, so I don’t think a fluffy creature is going to be hopping around during quarantine to deliver baskets and hide eggs. It just doesn’t make sense. These are crazy times. Safety first.”

They held out hope. 

I stood my ground. 

I hadn’t left my house all month, and I sure as shit wasn’t about to go through the trouble of showering, putting on makeup, squeezing into real world clothes, and figuring out if I still knew how to drive a car just so I could find a random gift to shove in a basket full of plastic grass and then sit up all night loading eggs with candy and hiding them around the house.

Also, the convenience of home delivery was super backed up due to all of the selfish stay-homers using Amazon and Instacart and totally box-blocking me.

And that is how Easter 2020 came to be the day that will live in infamy.

Picture it: Sunday, April 12. The kids awoke with the anticipation of finding a special gift from the Easter Bunny.

Despite their search and rescue efforts, there was nothing to be found. 

Elle, of course, experienced the situation at face value. 

Charley was wholeheartedly disappointed that EB didn’t come through in a pinch. 

I was doing my best to ignore the dull guilt of using quarantine as an excuse for my personal failure, when a notification popped up in my family text stream: LET’S ZOOM!

“Guys! Want to talk with Grandma and Grandpa and your cousins?”

We gathered around the computer and stumbled through the awkward “can you hear me”s and “can you see me”s. When it was clear that we could, in fact, hear and see everyone, my brother tried to keep the conversation going and brilliantly prompted his children, “Hey, kids! Why don’t you show your cousins what you got from the Easter Bunny!”

What a dick. 

Of course my brother and his perfect wife got Easter gifts for their kids, because they aren’t complete monsters. Why didn’t I see this coming?

Charley gasped for understanding, turning from the camera to me and back again. “What? How?”

“Woooooow,” I strained with unblinking eyes, staring into my brother’s pixelated face, “You guys are soooooo lucky. The Easter Bunny didn’t make it to Florida this year.”

My dad smirked under his mustache as my mom covered her mouth.

“Oh really?” my brother responded. “I guess we DID get lucky.”

Perfect. Now he’s the favorite son AND the better parent. What an asshole.

Later that night, when we settled around the dinner table, Charley was still feeling the burn of getting shafted by a mythical being. “It’s not fair. Why did he go to Caden’s house and not here?”

This was it. The turning point.

I took a deep breath and scanned the faces around the table.

Charley looked disheartened, Elle was drooling with giddy anticipation, and Michael was strategically rearranging items on his plate in a clear effort to avoid eye contact.

I started nice and slow, “Let’s really think about this. What are the possible scenarios that would allow the Easter Bunny to get to Michigan, but not Florida?”

The silence was deafening.

He turned to me with defeat written all over his face, “The Easter Bunny isn’t real?”  

“Not in the way you were imagining. The Easter Bunny is really me and Dad.” 

I didn’t know why I was giving my husband any credit. He wasn’t offering to throw any water on the burning fire.

Tears welled up in Charley's big blues. He looked around the table. “Elle! Why are you smiling?”

“I knew all along!” she blurted.

Tears started to flow.

“Technically, she figured it out a couple of months ago,” I explained while giving her a warning glance. “Speaking of which, if the Easter Bunny is really me and Dad, what do you think that means for Santa Claus?”

“Come on!” he yelled. 

“And the Tooth Fairy,” I added reluctantly. 

I attempted to give my groom a pleading look, but it appeared as though he had suddenly fallen deaf and blind.

“It sucks to find out like this. I’m really sorry,” I offered with a hug.

“Yeah. He agreed. But I’m glad you told me. I just feel so stupid. I really believed.”

My heart exploded into a million pieces. Cleanup on aisle 3.

“Hey, since I’m Santa (I was no longer willing to give any credit to Helen Keller on the other side of the table), I think I owe you an extra special gift this year.”

He sniffled and gave me another hug. I didn’t even care that the embrace was likely a strategy to wipe his nose on my shirt. Wipe away, kid. I got next.

After the plates were cleared and we went along with our regularly scheduled nightly routine, I noticed the slider door open and Charley slip out onto the lanai.  

I caught his attention, “Hey! What’s up, Buddy?”

“I decided it’s time to let Hover go. I’m going to put him back where we found him. Maybe he can be reunited with his family.”

The door closed slowly behind him.

I stopped myself from joining him. It seemed like something he wanted to do alone.

When he finally reemerged, he had tears streaming down his face as he found a place next to me on the couch.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

We sat in silence for a moment.

“Man, I feel like I matured so much today,” he said.

“Me too.” 

It was both an agreement with his reflection and an acknowledgement of my own personal development.

He fell asleep to me rubbing his back. He might have had a day of hard growth, but I still held my motherly bond with my firstborn. 

And from that moment forward, I knew that I would never let another Easter go by without half-assing some gifts together for my favorite humans. 

Happy Easter!

🐰If you need some Easter gift ideas for your favorite humans, check out this list.

*Stay tuned for the full story on The Big Three